I Don't Need No Promises
by also known as LuLu
Summary: One night changed the lives of three very different people forever, driving each to seek a new life. But what they don’t realize is that the decisions of few end up affecting the lives of many, and the responsibility of guilt can color an entire lifetim
1. Seein' Red

_Author's Notes:_ If you happened to read the first (or second) version of this story posted, you're in store for something different. This is a complete and total rewrite (and if you're reading this prologue for the first time, that's just been revamped too). It's scary because I'm going into this blind. The prologue is giving me a little bit of direction, but beyond that, I have little to no idea as to where I'm going with this right now. Anything could happen at this point, really. That actually makes it exciting, too, and I'm very enthusiastic about this story. If you're reading this, please review!   
  
_Disclaimer:_ Newsies and its characters belong to Disney; any songs that appear as chapter titles/stops belong to their respective owners (here, for example, I'm praying that Unwritten Law doesn't sue me ^^;). I only lay claim to Patrick, Louis, Alice, and anyone else that appears in this story but not in the movie.  
  


Prologue -- It Happened One Night and Went Into Morning (or, Seein' Red)_  
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1899, Three Days Before the Newsies Strike Began  
  
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_  
_

i'm seein' red  
don't think you'll have to see my face again  
don't have much time for sympathy  
'cos it never happened to me  
you're feeling blue now  
i think you bit off more than you could chew  
and now it's time to make a choice  
_  
---------------------------------------------------  
_

  
"Patrick!"  
  
Fifteen-year-old Patrick released his right hand from the doorknob when he heard his name. In his left he was holding a knapsack with his life packed away inside. But he said nothing to the boy who was speaking, only giving him a steady stare.  
  
"What are you doin'?" the boy asked.  
  
"Leavin'," Patrick said, running his free hand through his mussed dark brown hair. He hadn't taken the time to brush it when he snuck out of bed in the middle of the night. He had wanted to make a clean getaway, but it seemed that now that wouldn't be possible. Patrick had neglected the fact that twelve-year-old George was the lightest sleeper of them all, especially since the two slept in the same room. George gingerly stepped across the room, making his movements light to avoid waking up anyone else in the house…just as Patrick had, but this time it appeared none of the other still-sleeping boys would be waking up.  
  
"You can't go!" He grabbed Patrick's arm in an acute panic.   
  
"You can't stop me, George," he said, pulling his arm out of George's grasp. "This is somethin' I'se gotta do."  
  
"What am I gonna tell Ma?"  
  
"You ain't telling her nothin'," Patrick told him firmly. "You ain't tellin' no one nothin'. You didn't see nothin' tonight, okay?"  
  
"Den what about when dey come ta wake us up in the mornin' and you ain't in yer bed?"  
  
"Den you say you slept the whole night and didn't see nothin', alright, George?"  
  
"What if I wants to find ya?"  
  
"You can't." The older boy's reply was flat and firm.  
  
"Please," he implored. "Patrick, I won't tell no one you left, but if I wants ta see you, even if I can't talk ta you, where can I find you?"  
  
Patrick paused. It wouldn't hurt to tell him where he could be found if George was only looking, not touching, not speaking, not telling.  
  
"Ovah on Duane Street."  
  
"Where the newsies live?" asked George, slightly confused. Patrick was a factory boy. He had worked in a factory all his life. Just as he had.  
  
"Yeah, George. I'se gonna be a newsie. I'se had enough of the fac'try life." Patrick slung his knapsack over his shoulder and replaced his hand on the doorknob. "But," he added warningly, "don't be talkin' ta me unless it's an emergency. Only if somethin' real big happened. Anythin' else, and I'se just gonna pretend I don't know ya."  
  
"Why?" George demanded. "You ain't evah been like dis befoah."  
  
"I'se been savin' me pennies, and I'se determined ta have a new life now," Patrick said to him. "I ain't gonna let you ruin it. I don't expect ya t'understand it, George, but please, just stay out of it." He cracked the door open slowly, until he could fit through the space.  
  
"Patrick?" asked the other boy once more.  
  
He stopped, halfway in the hall. "Yeah?"  
  
"Youse still me older brudder, no mattah where ya go."   
  
Patrick couldn't help but crack a smile. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I'se still yer older brudder."  
  
He slipped out the door, and then he was gone. George did his duty as a younger brother and closed the door behind him before slipping back into bed.  
  
Outside, the streets were dimly lit, but it was enough for Patrick to read the street signs and make his way to the Lodging House, his new home. He had made it a habit to pass by it every day on his way to work, just so that when this night came, he would be ready, willing, and able to head there no matter what. And now, here he was. He had successfully run away from home, and he was about to begin his dream job as a newsie. It was what he had always wanted to do. Patrick watched those boys every day on his way to work and saw how much fun they had doing their job; it seemed so easy. Much easier than factory work, at least. He wasn't even that good at factory work anyway. Being a newsie would give him the opportunity to excel at something, and open doors for him that had been slammed in his face before. At least, this is what Patrick hoped with every fiber of his being. George, Ma, and the others would get over his absence, Patrick was sure. He had never been much of a help to them anyway.  
  
He could see the glow of an usually large light around the corner, three blocks from his destination. Someone must have left their lamp on. Or they were working in the night, though it must have already been long past midnight.  
  
Patrick rounded the corner and stopped when he saw it.  
  


_---------------------------------------------------  
  
oh i confess  
i don't know what to make from all this mess  
don't have much time for sympathy  
but it never happened to me  
you're feeling down now  
i don't know where I'll be when you come around  
and now it's time to make a choice  
  
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It was hot. So hot that Louis was roused from the deep, dream-filled summer sleep he had been experiencing in his family's third-floor tenement. When he opened his eyes, still groggy from sleep, he at first mistook the brightness glowing outside his window to be the morning sun, and thought he had overslept again.   
  
His eyes widened when he realized that the source was not the sun, but the building across the alley. It was on fire.   
  
"Shit!" he cried, hopping out of bed and pulling on a pair of pants. Blindly, he reached for a nearby shirt to cover his upper body. He didn't have time to grab the fresh linen strips sitting in the basket beside his bed-table to wrap around the open wounds that covered his torso. "FIRE!"  
  
This was not good, he decided as he opened his door, shirt only half on his back. His neighbors were running half-clothed down the stairs towards the exit of the building, some of the younger children yelling and crying. It occurred to him that the downstairs exit would not be his best option with the stampede of his neighbors. He would put the fire escape to his own use, he resolved. After all, it _was _a fire, so no situation was more appropriate.  
  
The smoke that billowed out from the neighboring building was enough to choke Louis as he crawled through his winder and onto the ladder that led to the alleyway between the two buildings. He looked down below him. The alley was littered with trash, but no person (or corpse, Louis's subconscious fear) was there. He could feel the heat from the fire as he descended downward, one foot at a time, with the screams and coughs of his fellow tenants and even some of his neighbors, trapped inside the lit building, filling his ears. Despite the sweat beats forming on his forehead, Louis was chilled by the sounds. As his feet hit the ground and he let go of the final rungs, he knelt in the alleyway and succumbed to a fit of coughing loud enough to drown out any sounds coming from the flaming building.  
  
But then there was a loud crack, and a stomach-turning crash, more than enough to stop Louis's coughs. One of the beams from the building had fractured from the flames and hit the ground. Embers showered Louis, who shielded himself best he could with his hands.  
  
Coughing started up again, but the voice was not the one of the boy of the alley. Louis looked up, squinting slightly as his eyes met the light, and saw a girl slowly crawling out of a pile of flaming debris. He recognized her as one of his neighbors. She was nearly eighteen, the same as him. She and Louis had known each other from the time of their youth. But here, she looked nothing like the girl Louis had seen every day since childhood. Her hair had been fairly singed, her now-pallid face blackened by smoke and streaked with blood from the cuts that made their way across her visage, most notably one that stretched across her forehead and down the side of her face. Her clothing was blood-spotted and ripped almost unnaturally, as if it had been torn or caught on something. One hand helped her steady on the ground, and the other was clenched around the handle of a seared suitcase so tightly that he could see her whitened knuckles.. As soon as he overcame the shock of this sight, Louis rushed to her.  
  
"Youse alright?" he asked her. She used the hand that had been steadying her, refusing to let go of the suitcase, to wipe the blood from around her eyes before replying.  
  
"Let me go," she whispered through lips dried by the heat.  
  
"Yer buildin' caught on fire," he said. "Where are you gonna go?"  
  
"To die," the girl managed to croak.  
  
"They'se gonna wanna know what happened to ya. Yer family, yer neighbors…what am I supposed ta tell 'em?"  
  
"Tell 'em all I died." She coughed again, clutching her blood-stained hand to her chest. She managed to rise, stumbling slightly and leaning against the wall of Louis's building.  
  
"Where d'ya think yer goin'?" asked Louis, putting a hand on her shoulder. The girl shrugged it off almost ferociously.  
  
"Don't touch me!" she hissed at him. She stepped further down the alley to evade his grasp. "Lou, don't do anything," she repeated. She lifted her suitcase up as if she was going to swing it at him. But behind Lou was the wall of flame that had once been her tenement. She stumbled back further at the sight, almost as if she was afraid of the blaze.  
  
"Am I supposed ta let you die!?" he demanded.  
  
"Yes!" A translucent tear trailed down her race and mingled with the blood on her face. Again she used her free hand to wipe the fluid away. "If the rest of my family's dead, I'm dying too!"  
  
"How do you know dey're dead?"   
  
"I saw them all die!" She fought back a sob. "So, I'm going to die too."  
  
"That's real stupid of you," Louis commented forlornly. "If you wanna respect yer family, treat yer wounds, get up the next mornin', let 'em live on in you. Don't give it up." He grabbed her shoulders again. The girl would have shrieked if she felt she had the voice.   
  
"If you think you got all the answers, then YOU find me a solution!" She pulled away again and staggered towards the exit of the alley, in the opposite direction of the building and the residents, rescuers, and reporters that were undoubtedly gathering around it. She coughed violently before spitting out the words, "But if they find my body tomorrow…then you'll know what I decided."  
  
Louis watched her disappear. The way she had acted…it was like she was trying to erase her entire existence, a plot Louis's presence almost thwarted. No matter what she would do now, she would always know that she had been seen exiting the building. One would always know she had made it out alive. One had seen the wounds that dominated her body. One would know the story behind them. It was only one, but it was still one too many.  
  
Louis coughed. This burden, paired with the surroundings, was almost too much to bear. He stumbled out of the alley and into the open street, to the open street and into the arms of the crowd one girl had been trying to avoid.  
  


_---------------------------------------------------   
  
and foolish lies  
oh can't you see i try to compromise  
'cos what you say i know is true  
and i can see the tears in your eyes  
and what you said now  
just like the words from running through my head  
and what i do to get through to you  
but you'd only do it again  
  
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Alice paused in front of the building, gazing up at its sign, so large it almost seemed to be threatening her.  
  
'The Garden Place', it read. What a name for a whorehouse.  
  
This was not a sign of desperation, she told herself as she swatted a stray strand of curly red hair out of her face. Though anyone else would have guessed it was her last-ditch effort, it was only the second place she had looked this morning. It seemed like there was no other option for her than this. There was no way she would take a job in a dank, dirty factory like her sister had, or live struggling under the feet of those more fortunate than she. This was her chance to start over. She had already found a new place to live, an all-girl's home called Fifth Street House. The woman who ran it, Mrs. O'Hagan, was a plump, brown-haired woman in her middle forties who had at first been reluctant to give Alice a bed. She had looked like trouble, stumbling in at the crack of dawn in ripped clothing and a dirty face, but Alice pled with her and gave her assurance that all that had happened to her was an isolated stroke of bad luck. Fortune's wheel had only set her down a few pegs, and this was her chance to work her way back up. Alice took a deep breath and entered.  
  
The room, she immediately noted, smelled of stale smoke. The only person present on the lower floor was a busty, beautiful, golden blonde in her early twenties, sitting at a desk, looking bored. From the looks of it, everyone else was busy on the second floor. The woman looked over Alice with a smirk on her face as she approached.  
  
"Sorry, darlin', we don't service goils heah," she said scathingly.  
  
Alice fought off an angry blush. A smartass whore wasn't about to drive her out this easy. "I ain't askin' for 'services'," she forced through clenched teeth. "I'se lookin' fer a job."  
  
"Den try down the street at the fish market. How old are youse, anyway?"  
  
"Old enough," Alice said simply.  
  
"We get a lot of goils sayin' dat. But dey don't know what it's like. _You _don't know what it's like, I'm sure."  
  
"How so?"   
  
"The last thing youse gotta think is that this is gonna end up bein' some job where the man of your dreams comes along by chance one night and takes you away from him. Dat's furthest from the truth. The people who come here, dey don't care how you feel inside, just how good you are in bed." It sounded like the woman had told girls this hundreds of times, but it still held the punch and passion to make anyone with less resolve reconsider their decision.  
  
"I ain't expectin' dat," the redhead said honestly. "I knows what I'se gettin' meself into."  
  
"Yeah?" asked the woman, arching an eyebrow. "If you really mean dat, youse got guts, kid. What's your name?"  
  
Resenting being called "kid", Alice could only utter her first name before the woman cut her off.  
  
"Hold on, I don't want yer last name," the woman told her. "I'd be Daisy Gregoire. I own the place."  
  
"'Daisy'…dat where the name of the place comes from?" asked Alice.  
  
"Yeah. Most of the goils adopt flowah names after a few weeks. We'se got Delia, Marigold, Orchid, Violet, and Baby's Breath too…you think you can handle bein' a Garden goil?"  
  
"I can handle anythin'," Daisy was informed with confidence.  
  
"I can tell," she observed as she looked her over. "Were youse in a fight or somethin'?"  
  
Alice gingerly touched the long cut that traveled across her forehead and partway down her cheek, one of the reasons Mrs. O'Hagan had been hesitant to give her a bed. She had tended to the bleeding all night in an empty alley, and it was only now that the wound was beginning to scab itself over.  
  
"Sorta…" She trailed off. "When can I start?"  
  
"Well, why doncha stay in bed for a day or two and rest up foist? I can give ya an unoccupied one if you ain't got a place ta stay."  
  
"I'se got a bed ovah at a goil's boardin' house," Alice told her.  
  
"Fair enough. Take care of your scrapes dere, too." Daisy smirked and casually added, "Men don't like screwin' a goil who could start bleedin' at any given moment."  
  
Alice couldn't help but grin.  
  
"Got it. See ya soon, then, Daisy."  
  
"Yeah, see ya 'round…Garden goil."  
  
Alice waved and turned on one heel to head out the door. Outside, the rest of the city was hard at work and the street outside the Garden Place was full of people. Barely anyone gave her a second glance as she pressed her way into a crowd. This was the way it was going to be from now on, she decided - an unknown in the streets and the world. It was going to be better this way.   
  
If only it hadn't taken last night to get onto this path, she thought.   
  
He thought.   
  
They all thought.   
  
But this was how it was going to be, they each knew…no matter the consequences.  
  


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so follow the leader down  
yes swallow your pride and drown  
when there's no place left to go  
maybe that's when you will know  
  
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_

  



	2. Goodbye to You

_Author's Notes: _Well, this took me long enough…I've been stuck as to where I wanted to start this, but now I'm getting into a good groove that's giving me some guidance (wow, look at that alliteration XD). Thank you for reviewing, Ann, Maniac, and Lucky ^^ I really appreciate it (I know that sounds rote, but I do! ::huggles:: Your opinions and support really mean a lot to me). Ann, these are my favorite original characters, so I'm very, very glad they're liked :D As for the Patrick question…let's just say this entire story came from "Carrying the Banner" 9.9; Heehee. Let me know if you like the center alignment for the lyrics, folks, or if I should just go back to right alignment. And, of course, leave a note to tell me what you think of this chapter, and if I'm giving these characters the treatment they deserve.  
  


I Don't Need No Promises  
  
Chapter 1: Hereafters Are Not Always Sweet (or, Goodbye To You)_  
  
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1899, One Day Before the Newsies Strike Began  
  
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of all the things i've believed in  
i just want to get it over with  
tears form behind my eyes  
but i do not not cry  
counting the days that pass me by  
  
---------------------------------------------------_  


  
"Patrick? Patrick?"   
  
His mother's pitiful, beseeching voice traveled through the group of boys as the Sisters handed out a simple breakfast of bread and coffee to them. It had been a while since a mother had come looking for her son, some thought as she wove through the group of boys. A long time, and it never became any easier to endure. For those with families that they had left behind, the sound of her voice was heartbreaking, for others who had never known a family, envy-inducing. The hair on the back of Patrick's neck bristled at the sound, as if Death herself had spoken to him. He found himself indulging temptation by looking briefly at her, but promptly refocused his gaze in front of him.  
  
"Patrick, come back…"  
  
She found herself staring right into the face of her son, who now stared straight ahead, frozen in anxiety and fear, concentrating on the nuns as they handed out food and drink to boys who mumbled their thanks while looking down at their feet. He didn't need his mother, Patrick told himself. He needed to show her that without words, so the other newsies wouldn't guess that he still had living family; he had initially told them that he was an orphan. To respond to her would kill him; to not respond would kill her.  
  
"Please, Patrick…"  
  
But some things had to be done. Sacrifices needed to be made to survive. He had sacrificed a warm home to escape the factory and begin a new life. And now, he would sacrifice the love of his mother to ensure the success of that life.  
  
"Patrick, I need you home, please…"  
  
In silence, the other newsies began to file away. Patrick followed suit, watching the destination directly ahead, not turning to acknowledge his mother's presence.  
  
"God save my son!" she wailed, falling into sobs in front of the nun's wagon.  
  
"Poor lady," Cowboy commented as the group continued their trek towards the New York World building.   
  
"Y-yeah," Patrick agreed shakily. "Poor lady, lookin' in th' wrong place for her kid like dat."  
  
"Who says she's lookin' in the wrong place?" asked Swifty.  
  
"None of us is named, Patrick, is 'e?"  
  
"If dere is, seems like no one's tellin'," said Kid Blink with a shrug. "Ain't me business anyway."  
  
"We'se allowed ta have our secrets," concurred Jack as the green, rusted gates of the World came into view.  
  
"Hey, guys," Snitch said, pointing above everyone's heads. "I don't mean ta interrupt, but dey're puttin' up da headline."  
  
Four dozen heads snapped upward immediately to read.  
  
"Da trolley strike again!?" griped Pie Eater. "What kinda headline is dat!?!"  
  
"I bet someone from the Sun wrote it," snickered Racetrack.  
  
"Wit dat headline, it looks like I'se sellin' up at Grand Central Station taday…" complained Dutchy.  
  
"Christ, can't dey give us somethin' bettah ta woik wit?" moaned Skittery. "Jist a war, or an assassination, or jist _somethin'_…"  
  
"A crooked politician?" suggested Snipeshooter.  
  
"Ev'ryone knows ev'ry politician's crooked already, Snipes…"  
  
"You'd t'ink dat aftah dat fiah two nights ago, dey'd be tawkin' more about dat," Snoddy grumbled. "Y'know, th' one dat killed old man Maguire an' all dose uddah people?" He wiped his nose. "Of all da nights I had ta stay in me bed with a runnin' nose…I always miss ev'ry bit of fun like dat!"  
  
"The fiah's old news by now," pointed out Mush.  
  
"It still sold moah papes dan the trolley strike will!" He threw down his hat. "Dammit, I can get bettah stories from da coppah on da beat."  
  
"Den get 'em and stop complainin'!"  
  
"You ain't the only one wit a belly ta feed," said Itey.  
  
"Or in your case, a whore ta buy," corrected Specs, pointing his index finger at the boy.  
  
"Dat's between me an' da goil, Specs."  
  
Specs laughed. "Like you could evah affawd one!"  
  
"Stop jibbah-jabberin' about whores, you two," Jack commanded irritably. "I don't wanna hear about it."  
  
"Hey, Pie," said Swifty as they began to file in line. "I'll meetcha aftah sellin', right?"  
  
"Forty-fourth an' second," Pie Eater agreed. "If I catch a trolley, I can sell 'til one witout bein' late."  
  
"Youse forgettin' about da strike?" asked Crutchy curiously.  
  
"Shit," Pie Eater cursed. "Howsabout we meet at t'ree instead o' two, den, Swifty?"  
  
"Fine by me, Pie."  
  
"I'm headin' right ta da stables aftah sellin' taday," gloated Racetrack.  
  
"Gonna floit with da hawses?" grinned Dutchy.  
  
"Naw, he's goin' aftah da stableboys," Kid Blink laughed, and then continued mischievousl, "Hawses can't give 'im tips about th' races. But I'se hoid from some people dat if ya rub a stableboy jist the right way, dey tell ya anyt'ing ya want. Dat true, Race?"  
  
"Shaddup, both of ya," Racetrack rebuked.   
  
"If it was, doncha t'ink he'd be winnin' moah races?" added Jake.  
  
"Yeah, didja evah t'ink about da -- HEY!" The other boys laughed loudly. Trying to take the attention away from himself and his bad luck, Racetrack casually sniffed the air. "Dear me!" he exclaimed. "What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewers may have backed up during the night."  
  
"Nah," disagreed Boots, as if picking up a cue. "Too rotten ta be the sewers."  
  
"It must be the Delancey brudders!" grinned Crutchy, and the other boys laughed again.  
  
"Hiya boys!" greeted Racetrack.  
  
Oscar Delancey scowled at the early-morning taunts and grabbed Snipeshooter by the scruff of his neck.  
  
"In the back, you lousy little shrimp!" he commanded, throwing him out of his place in line. Jack cocked an eyebrow.  
  
"It's not good ta do dat," Racetrack scolded as Jack began moving. "Not healthy…"  
  
"You shouldn't call people lousy little shrimps, Oscar," Jack smirked, alternating pointing from one brother to the next, "unless you're referrin' to the family resemblance in yer brudder heah."  
  
The boys laughed, and Racetrack offered his opinion again.  
  
"Five to one dat Cowboys skunks 'em. Who's bettin'?"  
  
"Nah, bum odds, bum odds!" the boys declined.  
  
"Dat's right," Jack continued, his voice tinged with danger. "It's an insult. So's dis."  
  
He reached up and knocked Morris' hat off of his head. The boys, including Patrick, "oooh"ed as the chase began.  
  
At least for today, it looked like it was going to be another normal day for the newsies in Manhattan.  
  


_---------------------------------------------------  
  
i've been serching deep down in my soul  
words that i'm hearing are starting to get old  
feels like i'm starting all over again  
the last three years were just pretend  
  
---------------------------------------------------_  


  
"'ehy, Al," called eighteen year old Cathy, a long-standing resident of Fifth Street House, in her thick, scathing New York accent, "aintcha got woik tanight?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Alice groaned as she crawled out of her bottom bunk. Outside, the low-placed sun signified that it was close to dusk. Her first shift at the Garden Place would be starting soon. "I'se gettin' up, Cath, don't worry."  
  
"Who said I was worried?" Cathy asked, peering over her thin-rimmed glasses at the redhead. "I don't care if youse late foir woik."  
  
"T'anks a lot, Cathy," she said, rolling her eyes. "Jist be glad youse a newsgoil, not a prostitute."  
  
The other girl shrugged and ran a hand through her chin-length, stick-straight brown hair. "I ain't desp'rate enough ta sell me body to some guy."   
  
"Who says anyone would even pay fer it?" laughed thirteen year old Kicks from her bunk.  
  
"Shaddup, Kicks," spat Cathy. "Nobuddy asked fer yer opinion."  
  
"Dis is an open forum fer contributin' ideas!" the petite brunette argued with a grin.  
  
"Jesus, you sound like a schoolgoil."   
  
"I made an dere appearance ev'ry now an' den," Kicks shrugged. "I betcha can't say da same."  
  
"Dey do say the ignorant are happiah," pointed out sixteen year old Robin, a tall, red-faced and dark-haired girl.  
  
"Explains a lot about you, den," teased fifteen year old Flurry gently, shaking the stray strands of dust-colored hair that fell out of her tight bun from out of her face.  
  
"Youse all real funny," Alice said lightheartedly as she dressed in a skirt and blouse she had borrowed from Luckie, the only other sixteen year old at Fifth Street House that was the same size as her, "an' I hate ta leave da convoisation, but at dis rate, I'se gonna be late fer woik."  
  
"Wese just tryin' ta get yer mind off it," soothed Flurry. "We know youse noivous about dis."  
  
"I ain't noivous," Alice corrected her, rolling the skirt to make it shorter. "I jist ain't evah done dis befoah."  
  
"In udder woids…" said Robin.  
  
"…noivous," finished Kicks.  
  
"Fer the last toime, _I ain't noivous_!" exclaimed Alice, throwing her hands into the air in frustration.  
  
The other girls, all but Cathy, collapsed into laughter.  
  
"Denial ain't just a rivah in Egypt!" Kicks said between giggles.  
  
"Quiet, schoolgoil," snapped Cathy. "Want me ta walk ya ta woik, Alice?"  
  
"I t'ink I can make it on me own," Alice smirked. "'Sides, Daisy might t'ink youse a customer."  
  
"Dat ain't funny."  
  
"Who said I was jokin'?" Alice asked innocently. "Listen, goils, when Luckie comes back from sellin' papes, tell 'er t'anks fer lettin' me wear her skoit."  
  
"Should we tell 'er dat you'll try not ta get it stained?"  
  
Alice threw a pillow at the House's self-appointed leader. "Shaddup, Cathy!"   
  
"Good luck!" called Flurry as Alice continued towards the bunkroom door.  
  
"It ain't luck, it's _skill_," she said over her shoulder as she headed into the foyer. "Mrs. O'Hagan," she told the woman at the desk, "I'll be gone til mornin' on account of my job."  
  
The middle aged woman looked at her with sad brown eyes. "Just be careful, Alice, all right?"  
  
"Yes'm…have a good night."  
  
Before Mrs. O'Hagan could reply, Alice went out the door and into the street.  
  


_---------------------------------------------------  
  
and i said,  
goodbye to you  
goodbye to everything that i knew  
you were the one i loved  
the one thing that i tried  
to hold on to  
  
---------------------------------------------------_  


  
The streets were thinning, Alice noticed as she stepped out of Fifth Street House. Thinner meant less busy, softer, and cleaner. She liked it this way. Less people to see her, to remember her face at a later date. Sure, she blending into a crowd could be considered easier, but she didn't like being uncomfortably crammed between strangers. Instead, she took to the streets at their most unpopulated times.   
  
She frowned when she realized that she'd be coming home during the bustling morning, but shrugged it off moments later. She could deal with it.  
  
As she ambled through the streets towards the Garden Place, she took note of the males around her. How many of them visited the Garden place? she wondered. How many were potential clients? Men she might have to sleep with? She didn't know, and didn't care to consider it. She was uneasy about the whole thing, but she would never admit it.  
  
Three blocks from the Garden Place, Alice noticed a teenage boy with a patch walking towards her. He was holding a thin stack of papers to his ear and bellowing for all the tenets of the buildings to hear. When he spied Alice, his shouts ceased as he approached what he considered to be a potential client.  
  
"'ey, Miss," the boy with the patch introduced. "Care ta buy a pape? I'se only got a few left."  
  
"No thanks," she said as politely as she could. She gazed over his shoulder to the street in front of her; empty, except for a woman standing outside her building about two hundred feet down, reading a newspaper she assumed the patched boy had sold her.  
  
"You shoah? It's a good headline." He was trying to pique her curiosity. Though he noticed that she seemed distracted, she still took the bait and asked,   
  
"What's the headline?"  
  
"Corpse of goil still not found from tragic fiah. Page two if ya don't believe me." He smiled to himself in contemplation. "Don't know why dey didn't put it on the front page, though."  
  
Alice froze at the sound of this, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar in astonishment.  
  
"Miss?" Kid Blink asked her uneasily, his voice sounding like a scream to her. "Miss, youse okay?"  
  
"I'se…I'se fine," she sputtered out, shivering slightly. "I don't t'ink I wanna buy a pape, I'se sorry."  
  
"Naw, s'okay," he said. "I undastand…you shoah youse gonna be okay, though?"  
  
"I'se'll be fine," Alice snapped.   
  
"If ya say so," Kid Blink shrugged. "Have a nice night, goily."  
  
"Y-yeah. You too," she said, suddenly feeling ashamed of her rudeness. "Sorry I couldn't buy a pape."  
  
Before he could reply, she set off in the direction of the Garden Place. Kid Blink watched her hurry down the middle of the empty street, at first only taking quick steps that could be mistaken for wandered. However, she submitted to a full sprint as soon as she passed the woman he had sold a paper to. A few moments later, she disappeared around a corner. When she was out of sight, he shook his head and repositioned his small stack of papers next to his ear, beginning his yells again.  
  
"Extra, extra!"  
  


_---------------------------------------------------  
  
i used to get lost in your eyes  
and it seems like i can't live a day without you  
closing my eyes and   
you chase my past away  
to a place where i am blinded by the light  
but it's not right  
  
---------------------------------------------------_  


  
When slightly out-of-breath Alice entered the Garden Place, its entrance hall still holding its stale, smoky smell, two older men sitting in antique, forest green upholstered chairs in the attached sitting room looked up at her. She uncomfortably averted her eyes, looking towards the front desk. A substantially younger boy was standing there, palms flat against the counter, in dirty clothes and a derby hat, arguing with her employer.  
  
"It ain't my fault I ain't got the cash!" he complained to golden-haired Daisy. "Da headlines have been horrible! I can't sell a full load o' papes ta save my life!"  
  
"And I'm supposed ta give you a 'loan' because of dat?" Daisy asked with the same smirk she had greeted Alice with only days before. "Youse gotta be kiddin' me."  
  
"You knows I'se good fer it, Miz Daisy!" he coaxed. "I jist wanna be wit Baby tanight. C'mon, Miz Daisy, _please_?"  
  
"Baby's busy with a client, Itey."  
  
"Miz Daisy, youse ain't bein' fair. She ain't wit a client!"  
  
"You think I'm lyin'? 'Cause youse the only one singin' dat sour tune."  
  
"I knows you don't like me bein' around her."  
  
"No, what I don't like is you standin' 'round heah witout a dime in yer pocket, causin' trouble like yer doin' now!" Daisy exclaimed angrily. "She's with a client," she reiterated, emphasizing each word. "I don't know when she'll be done. Go home, Itey. Save yer money fer anudder day."  
  
Itey heaved a sigh of defeat.  
  
"I'll be back, Miz Daisy," he told her.  
  
"Yeh always are."  
  
As he headed for the door, he caught sight of Alice, standing close to the door, who he hadn't see enter.  
  
"You new?" he asked her. "I ain't evah seen ya heah."  
  
Alice nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'se new."  
  
"Youse cute," he continued, looking her over.  
  
"He can't pay for ya, honey, just ignore 'im," Daisy called from the desk. "He's leavin' anyway."   
  
Alice moved over to the desk as Itey, indignant from Daisy's last comment, exited.  
  
"Damn newsies just cause me trouble," Daisy groused as soon as Itey disappeared out the door. "Dey think dese goils are the loves of deir lives." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she continued, switching to a cheerier tone. "How ya been, goily? Ya cleaned up bettah dan I thought ya would."  
  
"Yeah, I'se a lot bettah," Alice agreed, ignoring the second half of her comment.  
  
"Ya ready for yer foist night?"  
  
"I t'ink so…" She paused for a moment, slightly uneasy. "Am I gonna be…y'know, gonna be wit guys tanight?"   
  
"Yer foist couple shifts are at the desk," Daisy assured her with a light chuckle. "Don't worry, you ain't the foist goil ta be noivous."  
  
"I ain't noivous!" she snapped.  
  
"'Course y'ain't," Daisy laughed. "But dere's nothin' wrong wit havin' the jitters. Everyone gets 'em."  
  
"I ain't everyone," Alice said with a frown.  
  
"Fair enough," Daisy relented. "Have ya decided on a name?" she asked with a glittering smile.  
  
"I was t'inkin' about Rose," said Alice. "Would dat be okay?"  
  
"We ain't evah had a Rose." Daisy smiled. "Mind if I make a suggestion, though?"  
  
"Not at all."  
  
"Rose by itself is a little plain…youse got red hair, so howsabout Red Rose?" The younger girl nodded in agreement. "Poifect, den!"  
  
At this point, a pretty, wispy girl dressed in moderately-rumpled clothing descended the stairs alone. Her pale blonde, really near white, hair fell loose just barely past her shoulders and her large green eyes looked slightly weary. She couldn't have been more than seventeen.  
  
"Baby!" Daisy exclaimed at the sight of her. "Where's Mistah Jones?"  
  
"Gettin' hisself dressed," she told Daisy in a low, smooth voice. "He asked me ta come down heah." She yawned and stretched. "He really wears a goil out."  
  
"Ya haven't been sleepin' again, have ya, Baby?" Daisy asked, seeing right through her excuse.  
  
"Dat ain't somethin' youse gotta worry about, Dais," she mumbled. "I'll get ovah it. I always do." She paused and looked over Alice. "Who's dis, Dais?"  
  
"Dis would be Red Rose, the newest Garden goil I told ya about the other day. Rose, dis is Baby's Breath."  
  
"Nice ta meetcha." Baby's Breath smiled a half smile. "Doin' the desk tanight?"  
  
"Yeah…" Alice said quietly. Now, she was beginning to feel intimidated by this whole thing.  
  
"Itey came around again," Daisy told the pale-haired girl. "I told him you was busy."  
  
"Itey?" Baby asked, brightening slightly. "He didn't wait around?"  
  
"'e couldn't pay, so I made 'im go home."  
  
"Why'd ya do dat, Dais?" she pouted. "I coulda at least tawked ta him!"  
  
"He was bein' a pain in my ass, Baby."  
  
"Anuddah bad day fer headlines, I'se guessin'."  
  
"Wanted me ta give 'im a loan." Daisy snorted. "Like I'd evah do dat. He was checkin' out Rose, though…ya might have some competition, Baby."  
  
Baby laughed loudly.   
  
"Like he'd evah go ta someone else!" she exclaimed.  
  
"'Cause he's like a puppy," said a new voice, belonging to a nineteen year old, chocolate-haired brunette who had just entered the room. "You know he's obsessed witcha, Bay."  
  
"Youse late, Delia," sighed Daisy. "_Again_."   
  
"Can't help it if I holds two jobs, _Miss Gregoire_," Delia said with heavy contempt. "I hafta eat."  
  
"Youse been leavin' poor Mistah Henderson waitin', though."  
  
"I did?" she asked with forceful shock. "Aw, I'se sorry, Al…" she apologized, going into the sitting room and seating herself into the lap of a man in his early fifties. "I'll make it up ta ya, okay?" she offered huskily, kissing the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Get a room, get a room!" requested Daisy. "Company policy says no sex in the sittin' rooms."  
  
"I hears ya, Daisy," Delia sighed, leading Al Henderson upstairs by the wrist. "Oh, sorry!" she apologized to a mustached man she almost bumped into on the staircase.  
  
"It's okay," said Phillip Jones as he continued down into the entrance hall. "Spectacular as ever, Baby dear," he told the girl he had been with, kissing her cheek. Baby's Breath feigned a convincing giggle.  
  
"Have a good night, Phil," she told him.  
  
"You too, Baby. And, of course, you as well, Daisy."  
  
"Thank ya, Mistah Jones," Daisy said with charm. "See ya 'round soon!" she added as he exited.  
  
"Dais," Baby sighed. "Can I have a break?"  
  
"Take a nap, sweetheart," she instructed. "I'se'll have Rose wake ya up in a hour, okay?"  
  
"Sounds good, Dais," she said with a tint of drowsiness to her voice. "I'se'll be in my usual room."  
  
"Thoid on the left," noted Daisy as Baby headed upstairs. "She won't tell me what's been keepin' 'er awake at night," she told Alice. "She's worryin' me, but she refuses ta stop woikin'."  
  
"She's nice," Alice observed.  
  
"She's a real darlin'. And we'se gotta get youse woikin' on the desk."  
  
The redhead blinked. "Well, what do I do?"  
  
"Just sit right heah behoind the desk. When the guys come in, take deir names, the goil dey wanna see, and have 'em wait in the sittin' room. In case anyone asks, the only goil not woikin' tanight is Orchid. Diff'rent goils have diff'rent rates, and that's on a sheet undah the desk. The goils'll take deir money befoah dey take the guy upstairs. Youse got all dat straight?"  
  
"I'se got it. And wake up Baby in an hour, right?"  
  
"Honey, youse a godsend!" Daisy laughed. "Fer the foist time I ain't repeatin' myself ta one of me goils."  
  
"Daisy, what about dat guy ovah dere?" Alice asked in a low voice. "e's been heah evah since I got heah."  
  
"He's my project tanight." Daisy smiled one of her dazzling smiles as the man rose and wrapped his arms around Daisy from behind. "I was just waitin' til you got heah so someone had the desk."  
  
Alice couldn't help but smirk. "No sex in the sittin' room," she teased, imitating her employer's tone exactly.   
  
"Oh, I know honey," Daisy answered. "Aftah all, what kind of a boss would I be if I ain't even followin' me own rules?"  
  
"Upstairs!" Alice commanded, continuing her impersonation.  
  
"Youse actin' like you own the place already!" she laughed as the man led her towards the stairs. "I get the point! Youse stiff!" she told him. "Don't t'ink I can't feel it. We'se goin', we'se goin'!"  
  
Alice heard her melodic laughter all the way up the stairs and down the hall, where it was halted by a closing door. She smiled as she looked down at the papers in front of her. She knew that this wasn't going to be the easiest job, having to give herself to men she didn't even know, but she knew that no matter what anyone said, whether it was Raymond or Cathy or Mrs. O'Hagan or Daisy or even herself, it was the only way. It was her life, and it was her responsibility to live it on her own terms.  
  
A man in his late thirties entered the building. Alice looked up.  
  
"Welcome to the Garden Place," she said with as much politeness as she could muster. "How can I help ya tanight?"  
  


_---------------------------------------------------  
  
goodbye to you  
goodbye to everything that i knew  
you were the one i loved  
the one thing that i tried  
to hold on to  
  
---------------------------------------------------_  


  
Louis sighed as he wandered without destination.   
  
This was going to be harder than he thought.   
  


_---------------------------------------------------  
  
and it hurts to want everything  
and nothing at the same time   
  
---------------------------------------------------_  



End file.
